“Mom, can we have a snack?" asked my eight-year-old daughter anchored by her three brothers and a set of twin eight-year-old girls from down the street.
I reached into the pantry and grabbed a white box adorned with a small picture of a blonde girl with braids wearing a blue bonnet and a huge smile framed by naturally bright red lips. I reached deep into the slender box and retrieved six brown rectangles decorated with pastel circles and covered with shrink wrap.
“What is it?” said the perplexed brunette.
“A Little Debbie Brownie,” I responded.
“What does that mean?” asked the other perplexed brunette.
“You have never had a Little Debbie? " I inquired.
“No,” said twin number one.
“Really? You have never seen a box like this before. What about these or these?” I asked while holding a box of yellow Twinkies in my left hand and a bag of Oreos in my right hand.
“No,” said twin number two.
This really did not come as much of a surprise since my family lives in a town like Lake Wobegon but better. Here all the children range from well-above average to presidential. My four children are squarely in the middle of the pack in the position of “somewhat exceptional.” Their rankings have possibly been stunted by their extensive exposure to simple sugars, trans fat and hydrogenated oils.
“What does your mom give you as snacks?"
“Grapes and apples. Sometimes she makes his hot chocolate and warm chocolate chip cookies,” said the first twin with the other one nodding in agreement.
“Really. Fruits and homemade cookies. You poor kids," I said with a sympathetic smile. “Enjoy your Little Debbie. When you are done with the brownie, have an Oatmeal Crème Pie. I am sure it is nothing like the cookies your mom makes with rolled oats.”
